


Finding & Losing Everything, in a Flash

by DesiRae88



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Chaptered, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Underage Drinking, Wingman Christophe Giacometti, Wingman Phichit Chulanont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11182989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesiRae88/pseuds/DesiRae88
Summary: In a world where having a soulmate is a rarity rather than a given, Yuuri should be pleased that he has one. His best friend Phichit sure thinks so, at least.  Will Yuuri manage to find his soulmate and progress with his skating career, or will he lose it all in the process?Soulmate AU, mostly canon compliant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic, so please try to be kind and constructive with criticism. I don't know how often I'll post updates, but I'll try to aim for some consistency, if I keep thinking of ideas. M rating will be earned in later chapters. 
> 
> The first few chapters are set prior to the start of the series, and hopefully I'll work into the series without too much divergence from the original story. Descriptions of skating may be very technical.

It’s cold. Why is it cold?  
Yuuri groans and rolls onto his side in his bed, wondering if Phichit has had another crazed moment & decided their apartment was too warm and opened the windows.   It is December after all, in Detroit no less.  Phichit has taken to altering the most bizarre things about as well as within their apartment to keep Yuuri both alert and focused on anything other than his anxiety about the upcoming grand prix final.  Opening all the windows on a day they were due for a blizzard would be right up there on the list with building a ‘campfire’ on the stove to make smores on and renting multiple goats to have an ‘temporary indoor petting zoo’.  Yuuri chuckled at the thought. Phichit really was the best friend anyone could ask for, especially someone with crippling anxiety like Yuuri’s.  A distraction sounded lovely.

Yuuri gropes his nightstand for his glasses, and begins to sit up in his bed. It’s much colder than he initially thought, now that his blankets begin to fall off of him.  A gasp escapes his lips, and his eyes quickly search his room for warm clothes, ANY warm clothes. He locates two sweaters and an additional pair of pajama pants, as well as his slippers, and quickly vaults out of his bed, throwing on all articles of clothing he can get his hands on until the temperature begins to seem reasonable again. Another chuckle escapes his lips, followed by a resigned sigh. May as well see what Phichit is up to this time.

Slowly opening his door, Yuuri realizes the common space is much, much colder than his bedroom. He notes both balcony doors in the living space are open but Phichit’s bedroom door is firmly shut.  The couch, television, and dining furniture has been pushed to the side to make room for a rather large tarp on the floor, upon which Phichit is currently building an igloo.  Yuuri’s mouth drops open in disbelief. How did Phichit get this much snow in here? How does the man from Thailand know how to build an igloo? And just how are they going to get it back OUT in the next 3 days, when they’re due to leave for the Grand Prix final?

“Phichit, what exactly is the purpose of this?” Yuuri practically yells, reaching a new level of exasperation with his best friend.

“Good morning, Yuuri! I’m making a fort, want to help?” Phichit quips in response.

“But, we have to leave in a few days! How on earth are we going to get this mess back OUT of our apartment before it damages anything? Before we have to leave?”

“Awwww Yuuri, you’re not even going to help me finish it? It’s nearly done, you slept so late!”

Yuuri sighs again, further examining their living space, to assess if anything is damaged. Somehow, it appears as though Phichit has kept the snow entirely on the bizarre tarp.  Lost in his contemplation, Yuuri does not see the snowball Phichit has lobbed at him until it hits him square upside his head.

“Oof! What was that for?!” Yuuri nearly yells, the new cold sensation of snow on his neck most unwelcome this soon after waking up.

Phichit rolls on the floor, laughing at Yuuri’s clear discomfort. Not out of cruelty, but joy at distinctly getting Yuuri out of his own thoughts so his friend doesn’t find a new issue to fret over about his skating while doing other mundane tasks. The igloo was a stroke of genius, with the only glaring issue being he has absolutely no idea how or when they are going to clean it back out of their apartment.  It’s not something he cares about too much at this exact moment. 3 days to the GPF, he’s just glad Yuuri’s not having a panic attack.  
“Come help me finish the roof Yuuri, it keeps falling down!”

2 hours later, Phichit and Yuuri lay inside the finally completed igloo in the middle of their apartment, staring at the snow above them laughing at their odd achievement.  Yuuri quickly discovered Phichit had simply been scooping up snow with a large bowl as it fell on their balcony and bringing it inside to build the small structure. It wasn’t big, as the apartment of two skaters still trying to hit the big time was modest due to their limited income. They could both lay inside of the small snow structure, their feet sticking out the ‘doorway’ but the space inside was little larger than a 2 man tent. In the distance, they begin to hear a chime from a phone. It’s a dubstep version of “Fur Elise”, Phichit’s preferred alarm tone they’ve both become accustomed to hearing as a reminder when they needed to leave for practice or classes.

“Oh no! We can’t leave this here Phichit, what will happen when it melts? Oh no, no, no…” Yuuri quickly yelps, scooting himself out of the small structure.

Phichit follows Yuuri’s exit from the structure quickly, giggling as he does so. “It’s fine Yuuri, that alarm was to tell me that we now have an hour to clean this all up before we have to leave for practice. That’s plenty of time!”

“And just how are we going to do that?” Yuuri inquires, a skeptical look coloring his eyes to match the irritation in his voice.

Phichit stares into the mismatched eyes, a slight twinge of wonder at the deep chocolate brown of the left so brilliantly mismatched with the bright aquamarine of the right. Jealous isn’t the right word for how Phichit feels for his friend who was born with a soulmate, he is truly happy for Yuuri to have the perfect match somewhere out there. But to never wonder if a stranger in the street was the one he was supposed to have met seems like it would be a relief to Phichit.

Yuuri grows tired of Phichit’s gaze, and utters the now familiar response. “Yes, I know. I’m _lucky_. I have someone out there for me. _Somewhere_. Do you have any idea exactly how large the world is and how many people are in it, Phichit? Now, what are we going to do about the snow building in our apartment? And how are we going to do anything about it before we’re late and Ciao-Ciao punishes us for it?”

After a few more minutes of discussion, they agree to drag the tarp as close to the balcony doors as they possibly can, ensuring no amount of the floor is exposed to the cold, wet snow.  Phichit begins to throw the large snowballs he created for the base of the structure clear off their 3rd floor balcony, with a merry “look out below” as the only warning any passerby would get.  Yuuri quickly grabs a large bowl from the kitchen, using it to quickly scoop the snow over the ledge of the balcony as well.  By time the next alarm goes off, the structure is completely removed and both men have changed into their normal skating gear, grabbing their bags containing their skates, and are out the door somehow on time.

“Darn. I didn’t think to give us more time for the storm” Phichit quietly states as the exit their apartment building to the buffeting wind of the blizzard that has been raging since the early hours of the day.  They hasten their pace to make up for the wind pushing back at them, hoping to still make the short walk to the rink in the normal 15 minutes despite the storm.

Phichit watches Yuuri finish a run-through of his short program from the bleachers. Celestino is making Yuuri do back to back routines today, as it is 5 days until he’ll skate it at the grand prix final.  They’ll leave the day after next, Ciao-Ciao having agreed to Phichit accompanying them despite his failure to qualify, agreeing it would be a good experience for him as a hopeful competitor, as well as for Yuuri’s anxiety. 

Yuuri completes the second run-through of his program, much more out of breath this time than the first, the program’s technical components much sloppier the second time around. Phichit envies Yuuri’s endurance to be able to do any of his elements during the second skate of the routine, but is glad that Ciao-Ciao has never asked the same madness of back to back run-throughs of him. He’d never be able to endure it.  10pm. It’s the latest coach has pushed practice this week, finally letting Yuuri get off the ice as well, sparing him the cruelty of asking for back to back run-throughs of the freeskate.

Slowly untying his skates, Yuuri hears as Phichit enters the locker room. It’s so late, it couldn’t be anyone else. “That was awful. How can the final be this close and I still be so awful? I’m just going to embarrass myself. I should withdraw before I make more of a joke of my career.”

“Your career is not a joke. You can do this Yuuri, I’ve seen you do both of your programs flawlessly. I’m constantly trying to keep up with your quads. Just, stop freaking out. I know you can do this. Now, let’s go home. I’m sure you still haven’t finished registration for spring semester, have you?” Phichit offers, both as a reassurance and a distraction.

“Uhhh… no. I haven’t” Yuuri sighs in response. He’d forgotten. Again.

“That’s okay. Let’s go home & take care of that, and call it a night. At least finals are over for you, I still have my last one tomorrow!” Phichit quips.

With a deep sigh, Yuuri finishes drying off his skates, putting the soakers on his blades and returning them along with his guards to his bag with a huff.  He quickly dumps the practice copies of his music in a side pocket, along with his now empty water bottle.  Phichit hands his jacket, scarf, and hat to him, allowing them both time for the two to bundle up against the storm still raging outside.

It takes them 20 minutes to make the trip home. Considering the weather has managed to get worse as well as the sunlight fading well over 4 hours ago, it’s not a bad amount of time for the trip. Plenty of time left for Phichit to attempt to cram in more studying, as well as Yuuri registering for spring semester and graduation.

A little after midnight Phichit quickly grabs Yuuri’s phone and laptop while he’s not looking, placing them in his room while Yuuri dozes in front of an infomercial about hairspray intended to cover bald spots.  Knowing Yuuri has no reason to rise early (or really, at all) tomorrow, he’s sure neither will be missed, and the absence will keep Yuuri from finding new ways to fuel his anxiety about the upcoming GPF.  With this thought, Phichit decides he can now retire for the evening, considering his alarm will be going off in 8 hours for his last final of the fall semester.

Yuuri wakes at 7:30 out of habit, finally used to the 8 am lecture he has barely made it to the entirety of the semester.  Giving up on the thought of more sleep, Yuuri rummages for his phone and remembers he didn’t take it into his room last night. Phichit probably took it so he couldn’t start to psych himself out about the competition, which Yuuri has to admit is for the best and drags himself out of bed to the common room. Grabbing a bowl of cereal from the kitchen, he sits on the couch turning the TV on to a sports channel for the morning review of figure skating, which will surely be a preview of the upcoming Grand Prix final.  Phichit exits his room as the portion dedicated to Yuuri’s idol, Victor Nikiforov, begins.   Phichit chuckles to himself at the immediate shift in Yuuri’s demeanor; he’s leaned forward, abandoned his remaining breakfast on the table, and ceases all fidgeting. You’d think after 12 years of obsession, Yuuri’s fascination with Victor would’ve abated a bit. But this day, same as any other, it’s obvious to Phichit that Yuuri is as enraptured by the Russian legend as he has ever been.

“You know, Yuuri…” Phichit begins. Yuuri’s sigh interrupts the rest of the sentence that the Japanese man has heard too many times from his best friend.

“No, I don’t think his eyes are the same color as mine, Phichit. I know I’ve said it at least a dozen times in the past month. Victor couldn’t be that unlucky, to be in a world where he has a predestined soulmate, and it turns out to be someone as mediocre as me. Whoever he is destined for, I’m sure it’s someone that could match his brilliance in every way.”

Phichit sighs, cleaning up both cereal bowls. For someone so determined that he doesn’t belong in Victor’s life, Yuuri clearly can’t seem to shake his obsession with the man. Phichit only recently stopped teasing Yuuri about the posters of him all over his room.  If only Yuuri would go out on a few dates, get to know people… but Yuuri refuses, as always. ‘But why would I do that, Phichit? I know there’s a perfect person out there for me, somewhere. Why would I waste someone else’s time like that?’  Phichit has to admit, the argument has merit.  He’d never admit that to Yuuri though, considering how few friends the other man has. He would never try to drive him away for so foolish a reason.

Some hours later, Phichit returns from his exam.  Yuuri is busy fluttering about the apartment, packing and repacking everything he could possibly need for the grand prix final, and doesn’t notice his return. ‘Skates, soakers, guards. Socks, music, towels, costumes. Gloves, jacket, hairspray. Headphones, MP3, yoga mat. Clothes, toiletries, pajamas. ID, money, phone. Chargers, glasses.’ He continues to pace, certain that he has to be missing something, though he is certain that it must be small, as all the vital things are accounted for.

“PLANE TICKETS!” Yuuri bellows, startling Phichit into falling off the chair he sat in at the table while watching Yuuri’s frantic packing & pacing.

“I have them in my bag, Yuuri. Let’s grab some dinner and head to the rink. I’m sure Ciao-Ciao is going to have another brutal practice in store for you, and I want you to watch my quad toe loop, I’m certain I’m about to land it.  I’m sure he’ll keep us until at least 10 again tonight, and we’ll need our sleep after that, since we’re catching the red eye tomorrow.”

Phichit was right. Practice was absolutely grueling. Phichit’s quad toe loop is very close, Yuuri agrees that he’ll have it as soon as he can feel the correct time to check out of the jump and stop his rotation.  Ciao-Ciao did make Yuuri do back to back run-throughs of his freeskate, which is more than trying even for Yuuri’s endurance. The 9 minutes spent skating the program are pure torture, especially as the second skate comes to an end as Yuuri fell on more of his jumps than he actually landed.   The men both gather their gear back up and trudge home in silence, both exhausted and ready for sleep.  Tomorrow will dawn too early, to be sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events during the Sochi GPF short program & freeskate take a toll on Yuuri, mentally and emotionally.

Yuuri’s official practice ice goes well, almost alarmingly so. Ciao-Ciao, Phichit, and Yuuri cannot decide if this is a good sign or a bad one, though none voice the thought. Phichit chats with the other competitors as they exit the ice once they’ve determined they are ready for the upcoming short program. He makes quick friends with the Swiss skater Christophe Giacometti, and becomes acquainted with Cao Bin of China, Michele Crispino of Italy, and Victor Nikiforov of Russia. He even chats with Jean-Jacques Leroy, though the exceptionally friendly Thai skater dislikes the Canadian after only a few sentences and resolves to never seek him out again if it can be avoided.

The locker room is nearly empty by time Yuuri leaves the official practice ice, as he was one of the only skaters that stayed on ice for the full 90 minutes allotted for the men’s individual skaters. When the door opens, he’s certain that it’s his friend entering, and is prepared for the onslaught of gossip the energetic Thai is sure to have gathered in only 90 minutes. The final other occupant, a tiny, angry, blonde Russian that Yuuri is fairly certain is competing at the junior level leaves in a huff, leaving them alone as Yuuri unties his skates and begins to repack his gear.

“Did you see Giacometti’s spins? They were beautiful, Yuuri. Not as good as yours, of course, but beautiful nonetheless. Crispino’s footwork was haunting to watch, even though he kept having to ask his coach for reassurance. Or was that his sister?  Anyway… Cao Bin’s artistry is amazing, he’s sure to get a high score for his program components.  And JJ’s jumps? They’re almost as good as Victor’s. ALMOST. And VICTOR. He was beyond words to see in person. Did you notice, Yuuri? He’s the only other person out there that has a soulmate too”.

Ah, there it is. Phichit is not subtle, and Yuuri knows the next sentiment before it leaves Phichit’s lips & becomes a voiced thought.

“His eyes, Yuuri. I mean, I didn’t get to see the two of you side by side so I can’t be absolutely certain, but his left eye is blue and his right is brown. I think you need to talk to him, Yuuri. What if he IS your soulmate? How perfect would that be? I mean, you’ve been in love with him FOREVER, Yuuri!”

Yuuri stands up with a huff, skates stowed back into his bag and ready to leave. “I know, Phichit. You’ve mentioned it only hundreds of times. But, I really need to concentrate if I want to do well. I need to do well. I couldn’t talk to him unless I do well, even if he is unlucky enough to actually be my soulmate.”

 

The morning comes far too early for Yuuri’s liking, but attempting further sleep seems pointless. Anxiety begins to set in, the only thing keeping Yuuri from turning on the television or music for distraction is the soft sound of snoring from the neighboring bed in which Phichit’s form remains resolutely motionless.  Yuuri quickly grabs his room key, deciding the hotel gym facilities are the best remedy to the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, to the thoughts already racing in his head. Nothing too strenuous, maybe just some cycling and basic exercises to get the excess energy out. He has to do something to make it better, there’s no way he can skate like this.

Half an hour later, Yuuri decides that should probably be enough cycling, and moves to ab exercises. He tries not to think it, but the thought is there in his head. ‘May as well make sure the muscles are working, they may be the only way I manage to land my jumps today.’ Yuuri immediately chastises himself for the thought and pushes the workout even harder, knowing that the thought formed by his subconscious and anxiety isn’t entirely wrong. After he’s exhausted the abdominal exercises, Yuuri moves on to squats, because he couldn’t stop the next anxious thought that tells him he’ll need to be able to pull himself up when he starts to fall.  This distraction isn’t working.

Phichit is awake & searching something on his laptop when Yuuri finally returns to their room.  He quickly excuses himself for a shower, allowing Phichit to plot a distraction, which is clearly what his friend is doing. Yuuri suspects that it’s the whole reason Ciao-Ciao agreed to let the younger Thai skater accompany them to this event, and he’s quite deeply touched that his coach and friend care so much, but he does them the courtesy of not mentioning it to save them all any embarrassment. He resolves himself to go along with whatever plan Phichit cooks up this time, after all the short program isn’t until that night. The igloo wasn’t all bad, and Phichit couldn’t devise something nearly that involved in a foreign country, and he has the same disadvantage of not understanding the local language that Yuuri faces. Yuuri lets the worrying thoughts go, the first of the day he is actually able to let slide.

The cool water is refreshing and relaxing after his workout. Almost relaxing enough for Yuuri to forget all the anxious thoughts he’s had since waking up. Giving up the shower as a near success, Yuuri gets out dries off. While attempting to make his hair look presentable, Phichit finally bangs on the door.

“Time’s up Yuuri, we’ve got plans! Hurry it up, we have to leave in 15 minutes!”

“But I never heard an alarm Phichit! You’ve conditioned me to only be ready to go if I hear an alarm!”

The unmistakable sounds of Phichit’s ‘Fur Elise’ alarm begin. He must be pressing it up against the bathroom door. “ALARM, Yuuri! 15 minutes till we leave!” he yells, clearly trying not to laugh.

Somehow, 15 minutes later, Yuuri and Phichit leave the hotel heading for lunch prior to ‘the afternoon plans’ Phichit repeatedly alludes to. Phichit steers them to what must be one of the only Greek restaurants to be found in Sochi, ordering a plate of chicken souvlaki for them to share as their lunch. Yuuri suspects this is Ciao-Ciao’s decision, and wonders if his coach has noticed the weight he’s gained since the unexpected loss of his poodle Vicchan 2 weeks prior.  He’s ashamed both of the weight gain, and his inability to hide it from his coach & friend.  Despite the insistence on healthy, Yuuri greedily eats the delicious food in relatively little time. It’s one of the few meals that manages to be both healthy and not taste like cardboard.

After paying for their lunch and another short walk, Yuuri stares at the façade of the store they now stand in front of. “You’ve got to be joking, Phichit. You want to do this? Today? Do we have to do this today?” panic creeping more into Yuuri’s tone after each question, clearly pleading that Phichit’s answer will be a quick ‘no’ and will alter his plans. ANY other plans.

“Of course, Yuuri! This will be so much fun! How many chances will we get to do this together?” Phichit resolutely grabs onto Yuuri’s hand, dragging him under the flashing lights that glaringly announce ‘indoor skydiving’ in English under the larger Cyrillic letters, ignoring Yuuri’s clammy hands and the sheen appearing over his best friend’s slightly green face.

As the instructor assesses their flightsuits, Yuuri has to admire Phichit’s resourcefulness. This distraction far exceeds the igloo or petting zoo, and is much, MUCH worse than anything Yuuri had been able to imagine. It’s inducing anxiety of its own, but realistically it is 100% effective in silencing any nerves Yuuri has been building about the upcoming competition.  He’s sure he’s forgotten everything their instructor has said, despite listening intently and repeating back the instructions when prompted. Upon seeing the tunnel in which they’ll be ‘flying’, he realizes he hadn’t forgotten everything a few minutes ago, but definitely has now.  The only thing keeping Yuuri’s feet moving forward to the tunnel is the elated expression on his friend’s face as he asks what are surely both important and interesting questions of the instructor, which Yuuri’s ears and mind fail to comprehend as anything more than a buzzing noise.

Yuuri follows the two men into the tunnel, and executes the appropriate actions at the instructor’s prompts, despite the insistence of both brain & body that he absolutely SHOULD NOT. Somehow, Phichit has managed to get his phone in the chamber with them and is snapping away, what are assuredly embarrassing photos of Yuuri flapping his arms to try to fly. He knows the instructor must be yelling at him at this point, but all sounds are drowned out by Phichit’s laughter, which manages to increase as Yuuri ungracefully crashes against one of the tunnels walls.

Phichit is much more graceful and continually shouts in glee during his turn, and Yuuri manages to get a few good shots for him to post to his Instagram, though deep down he’s sure his own face will likely be much more prevalent in the upcoming posts. As Yuuri sees the time on Phichit’s phone, panic starts to set in. “We have 2 hours! We have to go, Phichit! I have to skate in TWO HOURS!”

Somehow managing to make it back to the hotel and to the rink in under 45 minutes, Yuuri’s pressing anxiety from Phichit’s “adventure” is finally starting to ebb.  The anxiety he’s had since that morning is starting to creep back into his mind though, coloring all his actions as he starts to go through his warm up. He lays out his yoga mat to begin basic stretches before the 5-minute warmup, accepting that the majority of his warmup will have to be after the few minutes on the ice, since he skates 5th out of the group of 6 for the short program. It’s a strange sense of relief, to not actually have enough time to worry before the warmup. He silently reminds himself that he needs to thank Phichit later.  Yuuri quickly ties his skates, accepting that his hair isn’t even decent to compete with but he’ll have to deal with all that after the warmup.

The warmup goes uncharacteristically well, at least by Yuuri and Ciao-Ciao’s standards. Yuuri is left with little time to contemplate what it could mean though, as he hadn’t managed to stretch properly, put on the rest of his costume, or slick his hair out of his eyes. He quickly unties and discards his skates in lieu of changing into the rest of his short program costume and fixing his hair. It’s not until about 10 minutes later that he has a minor episode of panic, realizing he’s left them in the guards while wet, the worry of rust forming gnawing at even the farthest recesses of his mind. He all but runs back to the locker room, only to find his yoga mat laid out again, skates in their soakers, and Phichit looking intently at his MP3 player.

“Yuuri! I took care of your skates for you, no worries. You look ready otherwise, so time to stretch. I made a playlist to pump you up! No, no, before you object,” he sighs, already seeing Yuuri begin to open his mouth with refusal, “I know you typically only listen to your program music on repeat, which I’ll let you do once you have your skates back on. But for now, listen to this playlist! It’s amazing Yuuri, I swear!”

Yuuri quickly caves, silently acknowledging that Phichit hasn’t lead him astray yet, and musing that somehow the day has managed to be a good one thus far. Maybe it’ll hold out.  He pops in the headphones, silently accepting his friend’s MP3 player rather than his own, and only slightly apprehensively pressing the play button once he’s resumed his place on the yoga mat for further stretching.  Phichit’s giggling breaks up the music, Yuuri only then realizing that his jaw has dropped open at the odd playlist that can only be described as early 90’s American hip-hop, which is not something either man had been known for listening to. He quickly shuts his mouth with a blush, accepting that the beat is overwhelming enough that his anxious thoughts can’t gain any purchase in his ever-flowing mind.  He even is able to brush off the oncoming shame when he notices that Phichit is clearly posting their morning adventure to Instagram.

20 minutes later Yuuri has managed to get through his exercises and put his skates back on. For once they feel right; not too tight, no stiffness in his arches. He takes this as a good sign for things to come, graciously accepting his own MP3 player Phichit hands him and starting up the playlist with only one song, listening to the fast-paced short program on repeat. The only form of nerves starting to break through are the ever-present thoughts of his jumps. His jumps are lower start value than the others in this competition, he only has the quad toe loop and Ciao-Ciao insisted that it be paired with a triple toe loop for his combination. His triple axel and triple Lutz are fine, but it’d be a lot easier to keep up with other’s scores if he had another quad rather than the triple Lutz.

As if reading his thoughts, Phichit pips up when Yuuri removes his headphones and hands them to him, along with his jacket. “You’ve got this Yuuri. Sure, you only have the quad combination. But all three of your spins are level 4. Your grade of execution on those and your footwork alone easily closes any gap in your tech score. And your PCS will be fantastic!” Yuuri sighs, amused rather than stressed. Phichit the ever-optimistic life saver.  This competition would feel entirely different were he not to be there, Yuuri nearly shuddering at the thought.  Yuuri quickly removed his guards, handing those too to his friend, and steps onto the ice. After his name is announced and one quick pat on the back from Ciao-Ciao, he circles the end of the ice on which he’ll begin his program, and relaxes into his starting pose.

The light, bouncy music begins, quickly building up to the tempo it will maintain throughout. It takes only a few steps before Yuuri has completely gone blank, allowing his muscle memory to take over and complete the program that is ground into his subconscious. He’s certain that he would be able to skate the program even if he were to be unconscious. In fact, everything seems like he just might be unconscious or visualizing a perfect skate, as all elements and choreography are coming easily to him. The opening combination spin is flawless as always, followed by the quad-triple combination, which is surprisingly cleanly landed. The footwork sequence appears as though Yuuri is dancing across sunshine, and the ending flying camel spin carries through the carefree, lighthearted emotion of the skate, despite it being an emotion Yuuri does not frequently feel.  The triple axel is a favorite of Yuuri’s, and goes off without a hitch, followed by a quick spiral & balance sequence for extra value to add to his PCS. He prepares the unusual entry to his triple Lutz, the left outside rocker step still feeling very strange. He manages to complete the jump, but has to fight for the landing and isn’t sure the entry was perfectly clean. Luckily, the music is nearing the end and Yuuri’s best spin is the only remaining element, his sit spin. He actually enters the spin feeling a fair amount of joy; the program was mostly a success, and this spin is his favorite spin by far. The alteration of the position & balance, the change of edge on both feet, all exquisite.  Yuuri stands, and gracefully reaches upwards, into his ending pose, breath barely heavy after the end of the program. The back to back run-throughs of the long program have definitely increased his endurance.

Yuuri’s ears begin to function again and he realizes the cheering is fairly loud. He waves, takes a few bows while grabbing some stuffed animals thrown on the ice, and exits. Phichit is bouncing up & down, chattering excitedly as Yuuri steps off. “Yuuri, that was amazing! I knew you could do it! Your spins were PHENOMINAL! And even your jumps were good! I mean, the lutz was a bit of a shaky landing, but still! You didn’t touch down or fall, and that’s great!”  Ciao-Ciao has been gently patting Yuuri on the back as the three make their way to the kiss & cry, the only further encouragement needed after Phichit’s very clear exuberance about Yuuri’s performance.

Phichit’s yelling is so loud, Yuuri doesn’t even hear his score announced. He leans forward to attempt to read it on the screen, to hear Phichit yell it into his ear. “83.56! Yuuri, that’s a new personal best! That’s so amazing Yuuri!” the excitable Thai man positively bubbled.

“It’s still a long way for me to catch up to everyone else in the long program, though” he states. Secretly, he’s pleased to currently be in 4th; with only Cao Bin yet to skate, Yuuri’s confident that he could remain in 4th going into the long program.  When the Chinese skater finishes his program, he ends up a few points behind Yuuri, and Yuuri is secretly pleased to be 4th, with Christophe Giacometti in 3rd, Jean-Jacques Leroy in 2nd, and naturally Victor Nikiforov finishing the short program in 1st.

On the short trip back to the hotel, Phichit insists on stopping at a street vendor for a food labeled “Syrniki”, Phichit buying several for himself, a bit put out at Yuuri’s insistence that his protein shake is all he’ll be indulging in for the evening despite his phenomenal skate.  Phichit greedily scarfs down the small balls of dough, dipping them in an unidentified sauce before popping them in his mouth. “Yuuri, you don’t know what you’re missing here! These are excellent, sure you don’t want to try one?”

“I’m fine, Phichit. I need to start watching my weight. But thank you, for the offer, and for all your support today,” he responds, getting quieter with every sentence. “I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

Phichit slaps him on the back, and they retire to their room to call it a night. The next day is a relax day, Phichit is determined to find a spa or something like the hot spring Yuuri talks about his parent’s owning since he doesn’t have to skate again till the day after next, but decides sleep is the only thing that will get accomplished tonight.

Yuuri wakes up the following morning with a quick grunt. The time change is peculiar, but he’s fairly certain it’s still morning. A glance at the digital alarm clock states 11 am, much later than Yuuri ever would’ve anticipated Phichit letting him sleep. A quick glance at the other bed reassures Yuuri that Phichit is still there and resting, despite the dwindling morning.  Yuuri quickly grabs some clothes and quietly enters the bathroom for a shower. He hadn’t had the energy to take one after the short program the previous night.

Upon exiting the bathroom, he notices Phichit’s now conscious form holding his head, albeit still in bed.  A soft groan escapes the hunched over form, and with an unexpected spryness, he leaps from bed, brushes past Yuuri, and enters the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Despite the barrier, Yuuri can hear the unmistakable retching from his friend.

“Phichit, are you okay? Well, that’s a dumb question. You’re not okay. What can I do?” Yuuri knocks gently at the door, worry coloring his tone.

“Stupid street food. I’ll never have Syrniki again,” comes the response, followed by more retching. “I’ll manage, just a bit of food poisoning. Glad you didn’t have any of it.”

Yuuri tidies up their room, finding some bottled water for Phichit and setting it out, and a movie channel for them to watch. A day in is not something Yuuri objects to on any occasion.  When Phichit is finally able to exit the bathroom, he bundles back into his own bed with a bottle of water, staring blankly at the movie playing on the television.  They spend the day together much in this manner, Phichit finally managing a brief shower shortly before dinner, and neither braving food any more daring than a salad or protein shake.  An unspoken decision is made to go to bed early, knowing it’ll help Phichit’s stomach, and Yuuri’s early practice ice the following day.

Practice ice does not go well. Yuuri manages to land only the simplest of jumps, and at the end notices that Phichit is now somehow managing to both be pale and slightly green. His concern for his friend deepens despite protests, and builds on the self-depreciating thoughts already swirling in Yuuri’s head. He can’t even do a decent triple flip, much less make his best friend feel any better. What is he doing here? He’s useless both on and off the ice.

Yuuri watches the free dance and the ladies freeskate, without much interest. Phichit is attempting to take pictures, so perhaps he is starting to feel better despite his peculiar coloring.  When Yuuri retires to the locker room to get ready and stretch, Phichit accompanies him. He appreciates his friend always supporting him, despite his clearly less than ideal health.  Phichit does give him a new playlist to listen to while stretching, this time an odd Swedish electropop artist.  It’s catchy, but doesn’t resonate quite like the spunky playlist from the short program did and fails to eliminate all the thoughts Yuuri’s been able to build up over the past 35+ hours.  Skates laced, Yuuri and Phichit head into the hallway, meeting up with Ciao-Ciao and walking into the arena, desperately trying to ignore the slightly strained feeling in the arch of his right foot.

From the moment he stepped onto the ice, Yuuri knew it wasn’t going to be his one of his best skates like the short program had. He did not anticipate it being nearly the worst of his senior career though. The initial quad toe loop was fine, but the triple axel was out of control and over rotated, causing Yuuri to step out. The death drop spin was acceptable, but only that. It had been years since Yuuri had done a spin that was merely acceptable in competition. The program continued to go downhill from there; the second quad toe loop he fell quite hard on, he fell on triple loop in one of the combinations, attempted his quad salchow from far too deep of an inside edge to save it, and managed to turn his triple lutz into a triple flutz. The only high points of the program ended up being the combination spin and the step sequence, as even the solo spin and choreographic sequence were less than spectacular.  As his movements stilled into his final pose, it was all Yuuri could manage to not burst into tears, this was a new level of failure even for him.

Ciao-Ciao and Phichit join Yuuri in the kiss & cry once again, both stoic & solemn.  None of the 3 spoke until Yuuri’s freeskate and final score are announced; a disappointing 149.03 in the freeskate, with a total score of 232.59.  Ciao-Ciao gently pats Yuuri’s knee, undoubtedly now offering reassuring words, but the ringing in Yuuri’s ears drowns all other noise out. When his coach and friend help him to his feet, he feels slight vertigo and is glad he manages to not pass out.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuuri discovers a new level of distraught that he didn’t know existed, mechanically returning to the locker room to remove his costume and skates. He fails to see any of the other skater’s programs, certain no one could perform any worse than he did. A numb feeling takes over his limbs, and Yuuri excuses himself from Phichit to attempt to collect his thoughts in the bathroom, as well as make the obligatory call to his parents.  He’s unable to hold it together while speaking with his mother, and ends the call early as tears begin to fall in earnest. A banging comes to the stall door, where Yuuri finds the tiny, angry, blonde Russian skater. He begins to yell at Yuuri, insisting he retire for being such a failure and crybaby. Yuuri admits internally that the boy’s words have merit, fueling his anxieties even further. 

Yuuri follows Celestino and Phichit from the arena, head down to hide his face in hopes no one will notice that he has been crying.  A reporter asks some questions to which Yuuri doesn’t have any answers, and avoids eye contact instead staring at the elegant form of Victor Nikiforov walking by, accompanied by the angry Russian Junior, which he discovers is named Yuri as well as Victor scolds the boy.  Eventually Victor notices the gaze, and genially offers to take a commemorative photo with Yuuri, which causes Yuuri to flush and walk hastily away, his words to Phichit earlier in the week ringing in his ears. He can’t talk to Victor, he didn’t skate well. It’s what he was scared of all along, and It feels like a prophecy coming true.

After returning to their hotel, Phichit tries everything that he can to lift Yuuri’s clearly defeated spirits.  No offers of junk food, games, movies, nor sightseeing interest Yuuri in the slightest, the only form of distraction finally coming from Yuuri’s phone as a chime erupts, alerting both men to the new text. Phichit’s phone chimes simultaneously, the message having been sent to both of them. 

“Ciao-Ciao is insisting we both go to the banquet tonight, Yuuri,” Phichit quickly summarizes the text, which earns him a groan from Yuuri. “No use trying to avoid it Yuuri, he’ll be insufferable at the next practice if we try. Let’s grab some food from somewhere local so we have time to change, it’s supposed to start in a few hours. And stop rolling your eyes and sighing! I’m just as stuck in this as you are!”

Yuuri can’t help but smirk. Phichit looks anything but stuck; if anything, he looks elated at the thought of further chances to mingle, socialize, and network with the other skaters, coaches, and possible sponsors. Despite his own misery, Yuuri lets Phichit drag him back downstairs and to a restaurant across the street.  He wants to wallow, he wants to let the thoughts drown him, but he can’t bring himself to drag his friend along with him. Not when Phichit has been so helpful in Yuuri’s never ending battle against his own anxiety & depression.  Eating proves to be difficult for Yuuri despite his conviction to try to hide his misery for his best friend. He manages to eat about half of the stroganoff Phichit ordered for him, but gives the rest up as hopeless, gratefully accepting when the waitress offers to box up the rest for later.  He’s only slightly aware of Phichit’s voice prattling on about planning a trip across both Japan & Thailand that summer to search for Yuri’s soulmate.  The few words Yuuri manages to catch cause his stomach to roll uncomfortably again, and he’s glad he only managed a little of the food.  Perhaps his appetite will return once he’s worked past the devastation that his utter defeat has wracked upon his love of skating.

Little more than a zombie, Yuuri follows Phichit back to their hotel, into the elevator, and up to their floor. He’s not quite sure how his feet are working, how his body keeps breathing. To qualify for the final, just to blow it all so spectacularly.  They pass a quiet, young housekeeper with brown hair and mismatched eyes, one distinctly lighter than the other, quite possibly blue. Yuuri can feel Phichit try to stop to stare at the girl, and has to all but drag his friend down the hallway to return to their room.  He breathes a sigh of relief when Phichit finally seems to have given up on interrogating the hotel staff in favor of preparing for the banquet.

“Have you been standing there this whole time?” Phichit asks. It’s only then that Yuuri notices his damp hair, realizing he must’ve showered since they’d returned, and Yuuri hasn’t even managed to take off his jacket. “It’s okay, Yuuri. I’ll take care of things,” the younger man quietly states, gently encircling his friend in a quick hug, before shoving him towards the bathroom. “Take a shower and get ready, I’ll take care of everything else!”

Stumbling into the bathroom, Yuuri concedes this is something that the federation would expect of him.  Despite his abysmal performance, he is the top skater Japan has to offer, he’s certain representatives will be there to congratulate him on his ability to even make it to the final of the grand prix series.  The whole train of thought is utterly exhausting and nearly consumes Yuuri in a new depth and direction of anxiety and depression, the only thing pulling him back out is the loud knock on the door. “I don’t hear any running water, Yuuri! Get moving!” Phichit is a lifesaver and a slave driver.

In a rare reroute of his thoughts, Yuuri turns on the water thinking with a small smile of his best friend, and all he’s done in the past 2 years to help him conquer his anxiety about college, skating, dating… everything. This is the thought Yuuri clings to entering the now steamy shower; his best friend deserves to have a good time at the banquet tonight, at the very least as a thank you from Yuuri.  He keeps the shower brief, knowing he’s probably running late by Phichit’s standards already. While combing his hair and staring at his own mismatched eyes, remembering the housekeeping girl, he hears the telltale signs of a phone being pressed to the bathroom door once again, ‘Fur Elise’ coming over the speakers.  All wandering thoughts disappear at the familiar tone.

“You know what that means, Yuuri! We leave in 15, get out here and get dressed!” Phichit yells through the door, sounding more amused than Yuuri feels the situation warrants. Yuuri finishes all he can to make himself presentable, slips into his boxer briefs, and exits the bathroom, game face plastered on. Pathetic though his performance in the grand prix was, he is a performer, after all.

His suit, neatly laid out on his bed, waits for him.  With little time left for apprehension Yuuri dresses quickly. Phichit may be the most considerate and caring person he’s ever met, but his anger at missing social events is a sight to behold.  One Yuuri distinctly does NOT want to behold tonight, on top of his own anxiety.  He slips his favorite tie into place, a blue as similar as he could find & afford to the brilliant aquamarine of his right eye, and accepts his fate for the evening.

Exactly 15 minutes later, Phichit is dragging Yuuri out the door, a key card secured in both men’s suit jacket pockets should they somehow be separated by the end of the night.  Phichit deemed Yuuri’s appearance ‘acceptable’, only adding a spritz of a cologne Yuuri does not recognize before insisting they be in time for appetizers and small talk, because ‘networking, Yuuri! It’s required!’. The elevator ride downstairs gives Yuuri time to seize onto some errant anxious thoughts, but the grasp of Phichit’s hand and lurch in the bottom of his stomach at the sudden quick pace towards the banquet hall leaves them all in his wake.

Despite the pleasant nondescript classical piano music played, the current lack of dancing, and the dimmed lighting, the hall is too bright, too loud, too crowded for Yuuri’s current state of mind.  As though sensing the return of Yuuri’s distress, Phichit’s hand yanks him sharply to the corner left of the door, to a table that is mostly unoccupied. “Let’s start small, Yuuri. This is Cao Bin, I don’t know if you two had the chance to talk before. I’m going to go grab you a champagne and some club soda for myself. Cao, do you want me to grab anything?” Phichit’s question is followed by a quiet ‘no’ from the Chinese man, so Phichit quickly scurries on his way for refreshments.  Yuuri does his best to try to engage the silent man in small conversation (if only to appease Phichit upon his return), but finds he is even more shy than Yuuri.  Phichit wasn’t joking when he said the plan was to start small.

Abandoning small talk as hopeless, Yuuri searches the hall for his friend’s return.  He hadn’t particularly wanted the champagne when Phichit mentioned it, but now the thought of some ‘liquid courage’ was actually making this awkward social affair so soon after his very public embarrassment seem almost bearable. A few seconds pass, and he finally locks onto his friend’s form, returning with a drink in each hand.  Just as Phichit hands Yuuri his champagne, a ruckus only slightly quieter than a marching band enters through the door, in the form of the swiss Christophe Giacometti, and the two Russian champions from the senior & junior divisions, Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky.  The two older men of the trio are laughing in nearly a hysterical manner, clutching each other for support due to the overwhelming nature of their laughter. The undoubted source of their amusement is unquestionably the boy following them, as he appears to be throwing a tantrum; he attempts to kick both men in their calves, hitting them on the backs, swearing colorfully the entire time.  If not for the laughter, one may even consider the teenager’s actions and mood dangerous, but clearly the subjects of his anger appear to be neither phased nor hurt by the ministrations of the boy.

“Well…. We’ll work up to talking to those three later,” Phichit states as the ruckus passes them by.  He wonders at Victors eyes, and nearly mentions them yet again to Yuuri, but knows it would only add to his friend’s anxiety, which is already near dangerous levels and they hadn’t even begun the obligatory rounds of conversation with anyone important. “We have a lot of other connections to make, maybe we’ll start with coaches first, make a good impression… and work our way up to making friends later,” he finishes with a wink.  Yuuri groans silently; it’s starting to look like there’s no way he’ll get through the night without his friend mentioning his huge crush to the Russian legend.  His options now are to try to keep his friend distracted or drink enough that he won’t remember his embarrassment tomorrow.

The time slowly ticks away, Yuuri following Phichit around the room, letting the much more socially adept man make introductions and a majority of the small talk.  His phone is frequently taken hostage by his friend, an action serving the dual purpose of keeping Yuuri from reading the news as well as entering new contacts he has no intention of speaking to again, he’s sure.  With each passing waiter, Phichit hands him a new flute of champagne to encourage the gradual increase in conversational skills that it brings him.  He quickly loses count and then all thought of caring, as Phichit leads them up to the Russian team coach Yakov Feltsman who is standing with his star pupils, a conversation with what must be sponsors winding down.

 “Hello Mr. Feltsman! I’m Phichit Chulanont of Thailand, this is my rink mate and friend Yuuri Katsuki of Japan, it is an absolute honor to make your acquaintance, sir!” Yuuri speaks only in small sentences when prompted by Phichit, but leaves the much more charismatic man directing the conversation out of fear of further embarrassment.  Phichit doesn’t directly speak to any of the Russian skaters, which Yuuri is deeply grateful for.  At a lull in conversation in which Yuuri would’ve typically stared at his conversation partners in bewilderment, Phichit excuses them politely with a grace Yuuri is sure he’ll never be able to imitate, even if he changed his major to study his friend’s social etiquette.

As they walk to the buffet table that had opened up near a half hour prior, Phichit finally sighs in relief.  “That’s it, Yuuri! We’re done with the obligatory conversations now. Sure, there will be more talking, you still have to meet plenty of the skaters, but that’s much more casual than talking to coaches or sponsors & officials,” he smiles, handing Yuuri a plate. “Eat something. I know we had dinner, but at least have some appetizers, especially some carbs. I accidentally lost count of how many glasses of champagne I handed you throughout that.” He has the decency to at least blush at this admission.

Yuuri accepts the plate handed to him, realizing that Phichit has a point about his alcohol consumption as it nearly slips through his fingers.  He’s not sure how much he’s drank either, but it’s clearly been enough that hand-eye coordination is no longer a given.  As they peruse the buffet, Yuuri places a bit of any food that he recognizes on his plate to placate his friend and combat the buzz that Yuuri is woe to admit may be a bit more than just a buzz.

Back at the secluded table in the corner which is thankfully now empty, Yuuri nibbles on the food he’s taken while Phichit chats animatedly about all the amazing and influential people they were lucky enough to meet tonight.  He doesn’t remember picking up small corndogs, and is confused how the food ended up at a banquet held in Russia, but pops the bite sized bits in his mouth with a giggle. Oh no. He’s giggling. More bite sized foods of uncertain varieties are quickly popped in, in a now desperate attempt to combat the alcohol already in his system.

“Good evening, boys!” the voice of Celestino echoes from behind Yuuri’s chair. “I saw you both making the appropriate and necessary rounds, good work! I’ve got these for you,” their coach continues, placing what appears to be 2 banana shakes in front of them. “Just… don’t tell anyone it’s from me. Especially you, Phichit. You’re underage, but it’s a reward for doing what is expected of you, even when the situation isn’t exactly ideal or what you had expected.”  At this, he smiles gently at Yuuri. “I’m proud of the work both of you have put in so far this season, even when you’re not at your best. But, I need to get going! We’re all going out to dinner!” Ciao-Ciao motions over his shoulder at a group of people now exiting the hall that Yuuri quickly recognizes as the rest of the coaches. He gently squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder, and joins the group.

“Oh, Yuuri, this is GOOD!” The exclamation quickly draws Yuuri’s attention back to his friend who is now quite animatedly sipping the yellow drink through an elaborate straw. “I need to find someone to get me some more of THESE!”  Yuuri leans down, taking a sip of his own.

“Mmmm,” he agrees with the younger man’s sentiment. “Pina colada. Excellent drink, but not particularly my favorite. They’re definitely not going to be handing these out though. As a thank you for dealing with me and all of this,” Yuuri waves his hand at the room in general, “come find me any time you want another. I’ll go and get one for you. You’ve been a lifesaver this whole trip. But for starters, feel free to finish mine,” Yuuri finishes, pushing his barely touched drink to his friend, who has already nearly finished his. A thought passes through his mind to tell the younger man with no alcohol tolerance to slow down, but he’s still giggling a bit at nothing particular, so who is he to judge his friend’s new-found favorite drink?

An hour passes. Yuuri & Phichit are still at their table, chatting much more animatedly as the alcohol continues to flow.  Yuuri makes yet another trip to the bar in the adjoining room, retrieving Phichit another well-deserved pina colada.   As he returns to the table and sets the new glass among the 3 empty ones in front of Phichit, he grabs another glass of champagne from a passing waitress.  It seems he’s adopted Phichit’s earlier habit of grabbing a new glass at every opportunity.  He now has 7 empty glasses on the table in front of him, and is finally able to chat easily as JJ Leroy joins their table, along with Michele & Sara Crispino.

Drinks continue, and the group begins to grow and become much more raucous. Someone’s brought a pack of cards, and Michele Crispino (who prefers to be called Mickey, they find) is now attempting to teach Yuuri how to play poker.  It’s likely a wasted effort, as Yuuri can no longer even count the number of empty glasses Phichit and he have amassed on their table.  The unfortunate waiter to pass by next is carrying an entire bottle of champagne, which Yuuri is able to nimbly relieve him of, deciding glasses for drinking and for vision are now unnecessary, all resolutely abandoned on the table.  The music finally changes from the now dreary classical, to something with a much faster beat, which is irresistible to the inebriated group. Yuuri & Phichit both jump to their feet, grabbing the Crispino siblings, JJ, and Cao Bin (who has quietly returned to their table for some reason, despite the lack of silence that the man seems to prefer) and dragging them to the dance floor where some of the pairs and ice dancing teams are already enjoying the change of pace. The odd group of six on the dance floor finally turns the banquet into a party, dance moves less conventional than required by the previous classical music.  Yuuri’s pretty certain he elbowed Mickey in the head, but neither men care, recklessly jumping and gyrating in time to the music.

“Oh… this looks _fun,_ ” Christophe’s words drift from behind Victor, signaling his friend’s return with more drinks. He follows his friend’s gaze back to the spectacle unfolding in front of them on the dance floor.

“It’s disgusting, is what it is. Look at that little _piggy_ , out there ignoring the shame of failing so stupidly in his freeskate,” Yuri spits scathingly.  He rolls his eyes at the scene that the group is making. He will never drink alcohol. He will never be that out of control.

“Hmmm, Victor, do you think we should let this little one stay?” Christophe teasingly inquires. He knows his friend is teasing the teenager next to him, purposefully setting him off, but Victor debates the unintentional truth to the words.  Things do look to be starting to get out of hand and very… _adult_.  Victor is unable to debate this much further though, as the Japanese skater runs up to Yuri at the beginning of a new song, bass now pounding loud enough for the floor to shake.

“DANCE BATTLE, TINY RUSSIAN ME!” Yuuri yells at the blonde teen in front of him. “You think you’re so great, so much better than me?! PROVE IT!”  And with that, Yuri is dragged onto the dance floor after Yuuri, stumbling over his feet along the way.

The dumbfounded look that passed across Victor’s face must’ve been a sight to behold, because Chris couldn’t contain his laughter.  “Oh, YES. This is DEFINITELY going to be fun.”

Phichit couldn’t believe Yuuri dragged the junior champion to the dance floor too, proudly proclaiming they were going to have a dance battle.  This was the Best. Night. Of. His. Life.  Yuuri then proceeded to break Phichit’s expectations again, by declaring this dance battle to not be conventional dance or free form, but a b-boy dance battle, and proved his point by balancing on his arms, legs over his head at an odd angle, somehow making the entire position look effortless. Phichit’s phone was out at this point, snapping away. There was NO way he was going to miss an opportunity like this.  Alcohol still buzzing in his head, he felt slightly abashed that this was a side of his best friend he knew nothing about.  As the ‘battle’ continued and Yuuri soundly beat the Russian with the same name, the fleeting feelings passed. Phichit was certain he had the coolest best friend on the planet, despite the man’s anxiety and typical shyness. This side of Yuuri was the most fun Phichit had in years, possibly ever.

“You boys look like you’re having fun. I couldn’t resist joining in any longer” Chris purred behind Phichit, startling him.

“Oh, Chris! I’m so sorry! I meant to come by earlier and introduce you two to Yuuri, he’s quite shy,” Phichit responded, addressing both the Swiss man and Victor, who had silently joined them.

“Oh yes, very _shy_. I can see that now,” Chris snickered, as Yuuri unceremoniously removed his pants as he was declared the winner of the dance battle with the Russian Yuri, draping the offending article of clothing over the back of the chair holding his suit jacket.

“That. Well. That’s not exactly normal for Yuuri. I… I should probably go stop that now,” Phichit responded with a squeak, blushing as both Chris and Victor giggled unrestrained at Yuuri’s continued antics on the dance floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to post this; I've been spending a fair bit of my free time getting back into my own skating & getting my credentials up to date to coach again. Updates after this may take a bit longer, but hope you all enjoy!

# Chapter 4

“Yuuri, you look like you’re having too much fun, and you didn’t invite me to join…” Chris drawls, mildly startling the Japanese man as he continues to dance animatedly among the other skaters. His pants are still absent, surely despite Phichit’s attempts to properly clothe his friend.  “Christophe Giacometti, pleased to meet you Yuuri,” he continues, attempting to shake the younger man’s hand in what could only be described as a seductive manner.

“Chris! I know who you are, you’re the Swiss champion. Your programs are so… _memorable_ ,” Yuuri chirps in response, ignoring the offer for a handshake and throwing his arms around the taller man, much to his surprise.

“I didn’t think this banquet would be any fun but you, Yuuri, have made it more fun than any other year. I arranged for something _special_ , but didn’t think it would see any use, given the earlier atmosphere of the room” Chris purred.  Victor chuckled behind Chris at this statement.  “What do you think, Yuuri?” Chris inquired, directing the young man’s gaze to a corner that everyone had managed to overlook and avoid.

A pole, blinding chrome against the mute, nondescript colors of the banquet hall, shone out of the corner like a beacon. “Ohhhhh, Chriss,” Yuuri slurs, a smile and blush now present on the porcelain face. “That’s a BRILLIANT idea. You’re right, this looks like _fun_. I think I’m ready to have another dance battle! Think you can beat me, Giacometti? So far, I’m undefeated…” the man continues to slur, rubbing his hand against Chris’s shoulder, also inadvertently placing his ass directly against the hand Victor has at his side, unoccupied by a drink.  An unintended sputter escaped the Russian man’s lips, but it appears to have gone unnoticed by both the Swiss and Japanese man, both enjoying their alcohol and innuendo far too much to be decent.

“Mmmm, challenge accepted Yuuri. What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want, Chris? Yuri didn’t ask for anything, and he didn’t win anyway. I… didn’t… really think *hic* of prizes…” Yuuri replies, still wiggling his hips to the beat of the song, directly into Victors hand, eliciting quiet sounds of shock.

“What I want… I think I know what I want. If I win, you’re going to kiss my good friend, here. Victor. What do you want if I win, Yuuri?” Chris finishes, despite the squeak from the smaller Japanese man and slight choking sound from the statuesque Russian.

Finally gathering his immensely intoxicated senses, Yuuri formulates a response. “If I win… if I win, I want Victor to dance with me next!” he happily quips, finally turning to address the silver haired Russian directly. “Is that okay with you, Victor?”

“Oh, yesss, please do tell. Is that okay with you, Victor?” Chris drawls to his friend, a smirk painted across his face, a devilish twinkle in his eyes.  The wink that follows clearly says ‘yes, I did hear you gasping before. And you’re welcome’.

“Ye-yes, that’s acceptable, I should think. Though, we’ll have to make our own wager if you do win Yuuri. I’m not going to dance against you without negotiating my own prize beforehand,” the Russian quickly recovers, characteristic charm falling back into place by the end of his statement. If he’s lucky, only his Swiss friend will have noticed how flustered he actually is. How had he not noticed before?  Yuuri’s eyes were familiar, sure. TOO familiar.  He was the only other skater at the banquet that carried mismatched eyes of a soulmate, missing that fact was inexcusable no matter his level of intoxication.  Loud and out of hand though this banquet may have gotten, the sudden prospect of getting to know the Japanese man has Victor enthralled. He couldn’t deny he found the man with the porcelain skin & raven hair attractive, without even addressing the possibility posed by his mismatched eyes. And to top it all off, he is having FUN. For the first time in…. he didn’t even know how long. He hadn’t laughed like this in years.  

“Well, come come now, Yuuri. Let’s get this dance off started!” Chris simpers as he walks towards the pole in the abandoned corner, slowly abandoning his shoes and jacket along the way.  When he stops to remove his pants, the crowd that had remained on the dance floor abandons dancing and any remote traces of remaining decorum, quickly swarming around the Swiss man. As if on que, the music changes to a slower, more sensual song as Chris begins to unbutton his shirt, gently leaning back on the pole.  “Now watch carefully, Yuuri, because this time you’re going to lose.”

Chris twirls around the pole, demonstrating a talent that likely the whole room wonders where he procured, but all are too afraid to ask.  His shirt is quickly shed, and in nearly the same motion he is able to hoist himself parallel to the floor, legs in a split above his body.  He is able to hold himself up in what would otherwise be impossible positions, looking both graceful and sensual the entire time as he twirls around the pole. As Yuuri had ended up near the front, Chris nabs the bottle of champagne the Japanese man was still drinking directly from, kicking a leg up over his head and spraying the alcohol onto the onlookers to finish his dance with flourish.

Chris saunters over to Yuuri, not bothering to replace his shed clothing.  “So Yuuri, do you think you can beat that performance? You have to be sexier than I am Yuuri. Still think you’re up to the challenge?” he teases, throwing smirks and winks over the shorter man’s head to the Russian & Thai men standing slightly behind him, enjoying the subtle outrage now coloring both faces.  He suspects both have very different reasons to be so outraged by the thought of Yuuri performing more sensually than Chris.

“Mmmm Chris, I do think I can beat you. In fact, I’m suuurree of it,” Yuuri replies suggestively. Well, perhaps he’s just slurring his words again, no one can be certain, least of all Yuuri. Yuuri quickly walks to the shining pole, letting the alcohol and determination wash away any remaining inhibitions or fluttering of insecurity.

“Oh. Oh no,” Phichit whispers to no one in particular.

“Worried about your friend?” comes an unexpected response from Victor. He’s lucky that the Thai man doesn’t know him quite well enough to hear the slight jealousy coloring his voice, and the unspoken question about the nature of their friendship. Chris doesn’t miss it though, and giggles a bit at his friend not very subtly attempting to determine if Phichit is a potential romantic rival or not.

Victor is talking to him. Directly to Phichit, not about skating or small talk. A conversation to which he is expected to respond. About his best friend. His very drunk best friend, who is only marginally more intoxicated than Phichit is at this point.  “Uh… yeah. Worried. That word will work. Worried. I didn’t know Yuuri could breakdance, he’s so shy most of the time I can’t imagine him taking any classes. But maybe he did. But there’s NO WAY he took more than one kind of dance beyond ballet, he wouldn’t have the time! He’s going to hurt himself, and he’s going to do it in front of you… he’s looked up to you so long Victor, he has such a huge crush on you… oh no! Pretend I didn’t say that!” he’s nearly yelling at the end of the one-sided discussion, having revealed far too much in his intoxicated state.

The melodic laughter from the Russian is only heard by Phichit, the others cheering loudly as Yuuri places a hand on the pole. “Everyone keeps saying he’s shy, but I don’t see it. To accept a challenge of this nature from Chris… no, he’s definitely not shy,” Victor begins to respond. “He is definitely a sight to behold, though,” he finishes, as Yuuri sheds his dress shirt with a toss, the garment landing directly on Phichit’s head.

Phichit’s need to chronicle everything for his followers overshadows his mortification at his friend’s behavior, and he takes out his phone to get some good shots.  Somehow Yuuri is good at this too, stretching out into a pose that is somewhere between a spiral and a landing position while holding onto the pole.  Yuuri turns and leaps into the air, ending with a slow, seductive twirl around the pole.

Yuuri twirls around the pole, turning upside down as he goes and only righting himself just before he hits the floor in the splits, eliciting cheers and clapping from the gathered crowd, including Chris and Victor.  He draws himself back to his feet and executes a series of high kicks, the final one ending in a foot grab behind the pole, using his leg and upper body to keep him upright despite his intoxication to finish his routine to the continuing applause.

“Did I win? Was I sexy like Chris?” Yuuri excitedly asks of Phichit as soon as he steps away from the pole. 

“Yuuri! How on EARTH did you learn to do that? It was AMAZING, but I don’t understand how I missed you learning two new types of dance! I barely have time for classes and skating, I’ve given up on other hobbies and dating altogether to have time to sleep!” Phichit responds, ignoring Chris’s giggling and Victors chuckles beside him for the time being. “But who decides who won?”

“Well, boys, I think we’ll call it a draw. I was amazing, Yuuri was amazing, and I want to dance WITH him now instead of against him!” Christophe decides, resolutely ignoring any and all protests from the gathered crowd, the most audible suddenly coming from Victor. “Though, I’ll still give him his reward for winning. He definitely surprised us all enough to have earned that, right Victor? And I’ll leave it up to Victor if I get my reward for winning or not…” Chris finishes, grabbing Yuuri’s hand and returning to the pole together, completely ignoring the sputters now escaping the usually composed Russian.  “Let’s give them an encore to remember, Yuuri!”

The crowd surges ever closer to the pole that Yuuri & Christophe now share; Chris kicks high up the pole, holding on only with his hands, back to the floor. Yuuri mimics the pose, only altering it so his back faces parallel to Chris.  In response to the cheers from the crowd, Chris slowly lowers himself directly onto Yuuri’s back, draping himself across the younger man like a lover awaiting their partner, Yuuri somehow able to hold both of their bodies upright with his arms alone.  The cheers manage to grow even louder at the display of sensuality and athleticism required to perform this little improvised dance.  Yuuri slowly lowers his legs back to the floor, Chris suggestively sliding down the length of Yuuri’s body with the motion.  Both men are devolving into a fit of giggles as the routine continues; Yuuri jumps and twirls around the pole, barely managing to catch Chris as he all but falls backwards into one of Yuuri’s outstretched arms to more cheering.  One particularly brave waiter passes by the group as both men return to the floor, and Yuuri steals another bottle of champagne off of his tray before the flustered man is able to object.  Chris grabs the pole close to the floor, swinging his legs above his head into a split. In response, Yuuri twirls around the pole above him, coming to stand on his thighs with a confident smile and uncorking the newly obtained bottle of champagne, spraying himself, Chris, and the onlooking crowd as a finale to their performance.  Yuuri doesn’t notice Victor’s clearly interested expression nor Phichit’s scrambling to gather his shed clothing, for once enjoying the feeling of all eyes being on him.

“Yuuri! Come here!” Phichit attempts to both yell and whisper at his friend, both proud and shocked by the lack of shyness and modesty displayed. “Let’s get you dressed again, before you get kicked out for indecency!”  He tries to hold Yuuri still and encourage him to put his pants back on, but clearly Yuuri has other ideas.

“Viiiiiictoooor!” Yuuri slurs loudly, gaining the attention of the shocked Russian man and the entire room with just one word.  He grabs the tall Russian in an intimate embrace. Phichit had been able to return only the dress shirt to Yuuri’s body, which somehow resulted in his tie around his head.  “After this season ends, my family owns a hot spring! You should come! OH! I have a great idea! If I win our dance off, you’ll come to Japan and be my coach! Please, be my coach, Victor!”

After carefully extricating his friend from the now brilliantly blushing and silent Victor, Phichit manages to push Yuuri into a chair and force the man back into his pants, and return his tie to a normal place on his body, albeit loosely tied.  “Okay, you. You will have to tell me just WHEN and WHERE you learned to dance like that. But, for now, drink this!” Phichit says, amused accusation coloring his voice, taking a glass of water for himself and for Yuuri from a passing waitress. Phichit drinks his in quick gulps, eager to return to sobriety as he’s certain he must’ve hallucinated at least half of this evening so far.  Yuuri, however, makes a disgusted face at the offending drink, and springs from his chair as soon as Phichit looks away, grabbing an abandoned flute of champagne and downing it in one gulp.

Yuuri glances around the room jovially, noticing that Victor & Chris are both absent.  This does little to dampen his mood; he’s won both dance offs of the evening, and even if he loses the third, he’ll be dancing with his idol. He’s already SPOKEN to his idol, without making a fool of himself! (Phichit would likely inform him that he DID make a fool of himself, but that no one seemed to mind.) “Let’s dance some more Phichit! I’ll challenge Victor whenever he gets back, and this waltz is too fun to pass up! WALTZ WITH ME, PHICHIT!” he yells the request, and Phichit turns a deep shade of red, accepting the request, if only to make his very obviously drunk friend stop yelling.

“So, what’s your interest in the boy, Victor?” Chris inquires, honest curiosity coloring the question.  It’s been a long time since Victor’s shown any interest in someone, becoming more of a recluse the older he gets. Sure, he goes out and gets all the right pictures taken with all the right people. He even sometimes visits Chris and allows his friend to drag him to extravagant parties with beautiful, interesting people.  But Victor is never interested. He’s distant at best, and when pushed too far he sometimes becomes outright cold.  Chris is silently pleased to see Victor show interest in someone again, for whatever his reasons may be, but he’s not able to silence his curiosity.  Together they slowly reenter the banquet hall, Chris pausing once more to ask the most important aspect of his question. “Professional, or more… personal?”

“It’d be a lie to say I hadn’t noticed his skating the past few years.  His step sequences and spins are exquisite, and keep getting better through each season.  I’m confused why his jumps are still so inconsistent though, and why his programs never seem to tell the story of his chosen theme. But all I had was a face, I’d never spoken to him or anyone close with him before this.” Victor pauses, taking the shot of vodka offered by his friend back in a gulp to cover his nerves.  NERVES. Victor Nikiforov is nervous. For what is assuredly the first time in years. “But, to answer your question, Chris… I’d say it’s a bit more personal than professional. He’s able to skate well enough to make it to the final, and then actually enjoy this miserable banquet? That’s something I find admirable, and I envy a bit.  I haven’t had fun in so long, and watching that beautiful disaster of a man dance as though the world is ending, as though he doesn’t care who is watching? It’s refreshing, Chris. It’s something I want back in my life. And I think I’d like to have that silly disaster in my life in some way too,” Victor pauses, watching Yuuri dance with Phichit.  Yuuri is now singing the waltz aloud rather off key, while still whirling his friend across the floor.  “He’s an enigma both as a skater and as an individual. I’d be interested in getting to know him as a friend if that was all he was interested in, but… did you notice, Chris?”  Victor looks expectantly at his friend, hoping Chris is aware of what Victor is alluding to. Saying it outright seems to tarnish his interest, as though he’d be uninterested in Yuuri if he didn’t have eyes mismatched similar to his own.

“I’m hurt, Victor! Did you really think I’d go through the effort of finding a stripper pole, insisting on a dance off with a relative stranger, and admitting defeat to anyone less than the potential soulmate of my best friend?  Of course I noticed Victor, and I did what it took to get you to notice too,” Chris sighs, embracing Victor in a quick hug.  “But I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding talking to him on your own! He did win a dance with you, Victor,” he finishes, winking at his friend one last time, quickly finding a seat at a nearby table with the Crispinos, striking up a conversation to discourage Victor from delaying any longer.

A near moment of panic attempts to grasp Victor at the prospect of approaching Yuuri on his own; he waits for the waltz to finish, determining he will ask for the next dance. As he builds his courage back up and takes a step towards Yuuri, the next song begins, a lively Irish step.  Victor loses all his nerve at the next words to leave Yuuri’s lips.

“I’m Lord of the Dance!”


End file.
